THE W.E.I.R.D Waking Evil Invoking Realistic Dreams

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Chapter 7: The Wrought Vessel

Billy Mason.....

Bastard Billy to all those that would fear continual torment by him, and to those that would gather to worship him.....

Not all goes well with Billy these days.....

Paralyzed- the victim of an unfortunate accident, and yet with all the nonworking income and all the attention; he really does not care.....

His favored poison to drown any cares that do arise- Tequila..... Not just any old brand- only the best for Bastard Billy.....

The liquor has to be vintage and the worm has to be in the bottom of the bottle..... mezcal, tequila.

Fragments of glass from his last spent bottle. The shattered soldier of drunken hand to glass and mouth combat; draw his attentions quickly to the far side of his room near to the door exiting out into the hall.

His demands of his mother and of his hired in home nurse, they finally turned against him. Drunken aggravation driving him to violence.

Billy, he now sits fuming in his wheelchair.....

His black caddilac his mother once called it in an attempt to make him feel a little better. Which in truth, it really never did.

He now sits, and dwells on his past actions, and waits. he waits for the police right now Bastard Billy does. For he feels after his outburst he may either be cited or arrested. His hard tossed threatening and flying bottle missing his nurse but just barely.

Twenty one of years, he has grown to being a foul person that is considered by many to be less than human, and by a few to be an actual monster- and nit only to children.

Billy bears all these miles of past’s reckonings and judgements and hates always on his face. the familiar scowl that seems as if to never go away.

Multiple lines creasing his brow and his jaw extended forward and locked with his teeth tightly clenched, Billy; he has nothing more to say to anyone these days.

Tonight, Billy cares even less than before. kids getting sick and being hospitalized under strange circumstances Many dying. Well, Billy thinks to himself:

(Who needs them anyway..... moneybags- one and all of the sniveling little whining babies.The do not but take all of your money and leave you nothing more but headaches.....)

Divorced..... His only son gone who knows where with his ex wife..... No statements from the courts demanding any follow up attention on their timely separation..... of which he has little of anyway when considering support.....

Billy was alone and he was mad..... always angry at his son, at his wife, and at the accident that paralyzed him; and even at himself for his rages and his arguments with those that stayed with him to aid him.

The inebriation was now drawing him into a sleepy stupor. For this at least he was thankful over.

His eyes drooping, he tipped the last of his bottles of liquor poison and downed the last swallow, his teeth crunching on the worm as it wriggled into his mouth on the pouring out of the last of the tequila.

The worm was like eating a strangely grown slimy pickle of a thing with lumps where the worms feelers had been.

The mezcal worm fought his swallowing and crunching in his consumption almost as if it had been still alive.

Billy dropped the bottle. His mind recollecting on days long passed.... on his younger brother, and on a hope that his day too will come at last.....

Darkness surrounded him.....

The smells from dirt and of grasses trimmed and of weeds burned reached his senses as his eyes strained to search his surroundings.

He was in a box.....

Barely visible from the inside, illuminated by some unknown source of light; Billy Mason now began to freak.....

He was inside a coffin.....

Billy raged inwardly, and wanted with all his strength to bang on the lid of the burial box that he may be freed; but he could not move his arms or the rest of his body.

It was as if his paralysis had spread up to his neck.

His memories, they now betrayed his trust as visions of his brother’s death by his pranking now returned with a not so sound vindication; in a sundering captivity of the drunken crippled boy’s life.

“..... Bobby?!” Billy shouted hoarsely. His head ached from his night’s past debauchery. "You ain't supposed to come back for me..... You're dead!"

Billy's eyes now widened as he recognized a feeling in his feet that slowly moved to his legs.

Some things small, and slender and long, and many in number were now slithering upward in between and circling around his toes and moving slowly up his legs provoking a sensation in the once dead nerves as they creeped over his skin.

Terror now gripped him as he felt sensations he had not felt for many years. The feelings were brought back to his mind by the swarming of hundreds of worms that were now enwrapping his body.

The revitalized sensations soon came at an even greater price, as worms found hooks inside broken and cracked pieces of flesh and cuts within his skin from broken glass.

The worms.....

They were now invading his body.....

"Bobby! No!" Billy cried aloud in vain. "I'm sorry....."

Images of his younger brother buried alive and left to fright one Halloween as a malicious trick for prank; now flashed before his eyes.

The prank had ended the life of his brother, and his mother and father; they never new what came of their youngest.

Poor little Bobby Mason.....

He was dead and buried somewhere in a box..... and when Billy came back to raise him, his little brother's white and stinking body had ben infested with..... you guessed it; with hundreds of worms.

The worms back then, they made Billy puke.

They were slithering in and out from Bobby's opened mouth, up through his nose and out from each ear. His eyes, they were gone and many a worm exited from the boy's head through the empty sockets.

Like brother like brother, as Bobby screamed so terribly when his older brother had left him boxed and buried; so to did Billy. His older brother now facing the same nightmare.

His screams as with that of Bobby's; they were to be perceived as being a not so manly girlish cry that was heard by no one, with the exception of the worms.

"….. Billy..... Bastard Billy Mason.....

Come Billy..... Come to the roots.....

The seeds, they need nurturing.....

Many trunks, many branches, and many leaves shall grow of your grieves....."

Billy screamed again. His spine shook violently.

Roots creeped up and around his fragile bones like many nonhuman appendages grabbing a hold.

Within, the roots expanded chasing veins and entwining muscle with vines and thorns.

From his flesh within, Billy could now hear the sounds from many gnashing and chewing and gnawing teeth; as if many festering moths had been feasting within.

Billy Mason screamed one last time. the roots, they were alive and they were eating him from within.

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